Although I am not officially doing NaBloPoMo for January, I thought I might do a post based on today's prompt. And then I looked at the prompt:
Write a post using the following words: oregano, football field, blackbird, hurricane, and loop.
Here goes:
A post using the words oregano, football field, blackbird, hurricane, and loop would be a post that nobody would want to read.
The end.
But actually, I went to the NaBloPoMo site because the January blogging theme is "Friends." I've been thinking a lot about friends lately, and I was looking for a prompt that might focus my thoughts beyond the warm-fuzzy-gushy-sentimental-teary mass of emotions I feel when I think about my friends.
(What the hell oregano, football fields, blackbirds, hurricanes, and loops have to do with friends, I don't know.)
I said it yesterday, and I'll say it again: You are all my friends. I know that sounds cheesy, but let me explain. In the past I have had a pretty narrow definition of friendship. I would have said that I had only a very few friends, and that many of the people I hung out with were more like acquaintances that I liked. It's not like I had something against most of my acquaintances, it's just that I didn't think we knew each other well enough to call ourselves friends. In order for a person to qualify as a friend, that person and I had to share our deepest emotions with one another.
Which is why you guys qualify as my friends. I share my feelings on this blog with you all the time, and you guys share yours back in the comments or via e-mail. And every time I get a comment or an e-mail, I get that warm-fuzzy feeling I mentioned earlier, and my whole body is buzzing with this sort of gratified energy that honestly prevents me from sleeping sometimes. And I just know I did the right thing by being honest about my feelings and encouraging others to do the same. It is only by being open and honest that we realize we are not alone in our feelings. And whether you are depressed, anxious, sad, tired, stressed, or overwhelmed, you always feel better knowing you're not the only one who feels that way.
So, thank you again for being my friends. Thank you for your comments. Just know you have made my life so, so much better.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Sending myself flowers
Roses I bought at Costco yesterdaySo. I finished the first draft of my script for the Salute to Tony Winners show. I tried to make it a nice mix of goofiness, interesting facts, sarcasm, and just general introductory information. One thing I realized, after researching a lot of musicals, is that a common theme in these shows is Nazis. Also, the Great Depression. And cross-dressing. Overall, most of the shows have a message of being true to yourself. Which is a good thing. Unless you're a Nazi.
I feel a little bit better having gotten that script done. I was stressed out about that. The next nagging task in my life is getting my house under control. I hate clutter. Like, hate it to the point that the presence of clutter makes me truly unhappy. And right now my house has a combination of post-trip and post-holiday stuff that just needs to get put away. And all around that stuff is the usual stuff like laundry and dishes. And I just feel like I get an area cleared out, only to come back 15 minutes later to find that area all cluttered up again.
So with the script done, I embarked on a clutter-cleaning mission, but I got overwhelmed after about an hour and had to stop. I popped in a movie for Nathan and went upstairs to lie down for a little bit. It felt like my head was spinning, more figuratively than literally. I just wanted all the sounds in the world to stop, including those in my own head. (No, I don't hear voices. I'm just talking about the cacophony of thoughts that swirl around in my brain.)
And then I thought, I need to give myself a break. So often I beat myself up for getting stressed out by my simple life of one kid and no job. I say, I don't have a right to feel overwhelmed. But this morning it occurred to me that I have a lot going on. Most of the stuff I have going on is stuff I voluntarily choose to do, like performing in a show or taking Nathan to ice skating. Those activities are good for me, and enjoyable, but nonetheless they are time- and energy-consuming. Sometimes I can't do everything.
I also need to give myself a break because this is a tough time of year for me. It's a tough time of year for most people, because it's cold and dark and we're all stuck indoors. Also, and there's no way to talk about this without ragging on my husband a little, early January is pretty tough because it's when my husband camps out in the house for weeks while grading last semester's finals. I think most of my friends would agree that marriage works better when husband and wife aren't together 24/7. I have my daily routines, and sometimes I feel like he gets in my way a little bit. I feel like Nathan and I have to get out of the house as much as possible, and that's tiring, too.
I get stressed feeling like I have to be chipper and happy when I'm around people. Nobody likes a big downer. But sometimes I want to say, "Look, I'm exhausted. I'm overwhelmed. I have questionable mental health. I just want to sit here quietly and not talk, or maybe I do want to talk, but not about things that make me more stressed out."
I developed a mental health scale awhile back, which goes from -10 to 10. If you're at -10, you want to kill yourself, and you better get yourself some help now. I have never been as low as -10 (knock on wood). I'd say at my very worst, I was maybe at -8. If you get all the way to +10, it is like the happiest day of your life. Like, you're at Disneyland, and you're actually enjoying Disneyland, and not all I'm at Disneyland I should be happier but OMG these lines and WTF do you mean it's $8.50 for popcorn?
The thing is, if you choose to take antidepressant medication, as I have, the goal of medication shouldn't be to get you to +10. It should be to get you to 0. Zero. Normal. The sad things make you sad and the happy things make you happy. And you have an appropriate level of happy or sad, given the external stimuli. So, for example, you are not all, Oh shoot, I have that yoga class next week, I must find my yoga mat, oh crap why is life so hard all the time? (Hypothetical example, of course.)
Right now, I'd say I'm operating at maybe a -2. Which is pretty good, considering I was at about -5 two days ago. I'm not making any promises like I'll be fine by the weekend or anything like that, because life doesn't work like that, and those kinds of goals just stress me out worse.
Instead of setting goals, I'm just gonna give myself a break today. I feels selfish and overly-indulgent to actually be telling myself to be kinder and gentler to myself. But this is one of those "sometimes it takes being smacked to the very core of your existence to realize you need to make some changes in your life" situations. If all I do is beat myself up all the time, and the result is being depressed, then beating myself up all the time may not be working for me. (Shocking, I know.)
I just want to close by saying that I love you guys. I love you for reading and commenting and making me feel better about myself. I hope I'm returning the favor sometimes. I'm glad you're my friends, even those of you I've never met.
I feel a little bit better having gotten that script done. I was stressed out about that. The next nagging task in my life is getting my house under control. I hate clutter. Like, hate it to the point that the presence of clutter makes me truly unhappy. And right now my house has a combination of post-trip and post-holiday stuff that just needs to get put away. And all around that stuff is the usual stuff like laundry and dishes. And I just feel like I get an area cleared out, only to come back 15 minutes later to find that area all cluttered up again.
So with the script done, I embarked on a clutter-cleaning mission, but I got overwhelmed after about an hour and had to stop. I popped in a movie for Nathan and went upstairs to lie down for a little bit. It felt like my head was spinning, more figuratively than literally. I just wanted all the sounds in the world to stop, including those in my own head. (No, I don't hear voices. I'm just talking about the cacophony of thoughts that swirl around in my brain.)
And then I thought, I need to give myself a break. So often I beat myself up for getting stressed out by my simple life of one kid and no job. I say, I don't have a right to feel overwhelmed. But this morning it occurred to me that I have a lot going on. Most of the stuff I have going on is stuff I voluntarily choose to do, like performing in a show or taking Nathan to ice skating. Those activities are good for me, and enjoyable, but nonetheless they are time- and energy-consuming. Sometimes I can't do everything.
I also need to give myself a break because this is a tough time of year for me. It's a tough time of year for most people, because it's cold and dark and we're all stuck indoors. Also, and there's no way to talk about this without ragging on my husband a little, early January is pretty tough because it's when my husband camps out in the house for weeks while grading last semester's finals. I think most of my friends would agree that marriage works better when husband and wife aren't together 24/7. I have my daily routines, and sometimes I feel like he gets in my way a little bit. I feel like Nathan and I have to get out of the house as much as possible, and that's tiring, too.
I get stressed feeling like I have to be chipper and happy when I'm around people. Nobody likes a big downer. But sometimes I want to say, "Look, I'm exhausted. I'm overwhelmed. I have questionable mental health. I just want to sit here quietly and not talk, or maybe I do want to talk, but not about things that make me more stressed out."
I developed a mental health scale awhile back, which goes from -10 to 10. If you're at -10, you want to kill yourself, and you better get yourself some help now. I have never been as low as -10 (knock on wood). I'd say at my very worst, I was maybe at -8. If you get all the way to +10, it is like the happiest day of your life. Like, you're at Disneyland, and you're actually enjoying Disneyland, and not all I'm at Disneyland I should be happier but OMG these lines and WTF do you mean it's $8.50 for popcorn?
The thing is, if you choose to take antidepressant medication, as I have, the goal of medication shouldn't be to get you to +10. It should be to get you to 0. Zero. Normal. The sad things make you sad and the happy things make you happy. And you have an appropriate level of happy or sad, given the external stimuli. So, for example, you are not all, Oh shoot, I have that yoga class next week, I must find my yoga mat, oh crap why is life so hard all the time? (Hypothetical example, of course.)
Right now, I'd say I'm operating at maybe a -2. Which is pretty good, considering I was at about -5 two days ago. I'm not making any promises like I'll be fine by the weekend or anything like that, because life doesn't work like that, and those kinds of goals just stress me out worse.
Instead of setting goals, I'm just gonna give myself a break today. I feels selfish and overly-indulgent to actually be telling myself to be kinder and gentler to myself. But this is one of those "sometimes it takes being smacked to the very core of your existence to realize you need to make some changes in your life" situations. If all I do is beat myself up all the time, and the result is being depressed, then beating myself up all the time may not be working for me. (Shocking, I know.)
I just want to close by saying that I love you guys. I love you for reading and commenting and making me feel better about myself. I hope I'm returning the favor sometimes. I'm glad you're my friends, even those of you I've never met.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
When the dog bites, when the bee stings
You know how I'm supposed to be writing this script for the show I'm in? Let me update you on my progress:
I checked out the Sound of Music soundtrack from the library.
You might be wondering how this constitutes "progress." Well, let me tell you:
Hell if I know.
But it's a fun soundtrack.
It's a fun show. Except for the Nazi part.
Anyway, I ask you, is there any little girl who sees that wedding scene and doesn't imagine her own wedding with that 10-foot train and floor-length veil? I don't care if you're the biggest tomboy, anti-bride who never thought about her wedding in her life, you see that scene and you want, need to picture yourself walking down the aisle with that dramatic music. For reference:
Alas, I didn't go all Maria VonTrapp with my wedding veil. Mine was a normal, waist-length kind of thing. The really long ones were like hundreds of dollars, and that seemed like a waste, given that you only use it once.
(Although I've actually used my wedding veil a few times.)
Anyway, as you may have gathered from the title, this post is about the song "My Favorite Things."
When the dog bites, When the bee stings, When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, And then I don't feel so bad.
I don't actually own a dog, so dog bites aren't such a threat for me. And it's winter, so all the bees are frozen, not that I'd be outdoors long enough to get stung anyway. But I do feel sad sometimes. So I thought, in light of that, I would write a post about my favorite things, and then I won't feel so bad.
I do like roses, but not so much raindrops on them. I don't grow roses, because I would kill them, which means my roses are usually indoors in vases, and therefore not covered in raindrops. Here's a picture of some roses I took at the Chicago Flower and Garden Show in March:
I just love the lavender ones. I like the color lavender. And the smell of lavender plants.
Of course, I like cats a lot. The song says "whiskers on kittens," but I think Leia's whiskers are much more spectacular than any tiny kitten's. See, she's really fat, so she has long whiskers to help her feel her way through all those narrow alleys she's always scampering around in. Wouldn't it suck if people had whiskers that got longer as they got fatter? That would be totally degrading.
Leia does not photograph well. And the essence of her lovability is in the way she interacts with people. So I made this little movie of her:
Also she smells like my new Brown Sugar & Fig lotion because I was petting her after I put it on my hands. I love it when my kitties smell like my lotions. Growing up I had this cat named Cookie. She always smelled like my lotions, until I went away to college and my brother reported that Cookie had started to stink. My mom emailed and said, "I think it's because we are used to her smelling like your lotions, and now she just smells like a cat."
Another one of my favorite things is water. I think maybe swimming is the only thing that I can do to possibly even come close to controlling my moods. (Well, I mean that and taking pharmaceutical products.) I like how water sounds. And looks. And feels. I like how when I swim, I feel like I'm dominating that water.
I also like how today at the pool some lady was asking me for tips on swimming. And she said I was a good swimmer. She told me she was a marathon runner and now she was just starting to swim for exercise. She said swimming was waaayy harder than running, and even though I know it's the total opposite for me, I did get a little ego boost from feeling like I was actually good at something.
I like how swimming is so quiet. Aside from the bubbles and gurgles, there isn't any other noise. That is why I also like reading. I admit that my love of reading has increased tremendously since becoming a mother. Some days there is so much noise, and there is nothing better than having an hour to lie in my bed and read quietly at the end of the day. Oh wait, reading on the beach is better, but reading in bed is an activity that can be done year-round.
When I'm swimming I like how I feel happy with what my body can do. I usually hate my body, but when I swim I am like, check it out, I am totally keeping myself afloat and propelling myself through the water. It's the same way I feel about my mind when I write. Sometimes I am like, shut up, you stupid mind, stop all your crazy painful thoughts. But I know that when I write, my mind can do something good for once.
On that note, I should maybe get to writing that script. But just know, unlike yesterday, today I am a fighter. I was swimming today and I thought, I would swim to Mars if that's what it takes to get me better. Or, you know, I would swim the equivalent of the distance to Mars. In actuality I swam 2,200 yards, which is 1.25 miles, which isn't even as long as the distance between the pool and my house. But you know, I'm fighting.
And then I don't feel so bad.
I checked out the Sound of Music soundtrack from the library.
You might be wondering how this constitutes "progress." Well, let me tell you:
Hell if I know.
But it's a fun soundtrack.
It's a fun show. Except for the Nazi part.
Anyway, I ask you, is there any little girl who sees that wedding scene and doesn't imagine her own wedding with that 10-foot train and floor-length veil? I don't care if you're the biggest tomboy, anti-bride who never thought about her wedding in her life, you see that scene and you want, need to picture yourself walking down the aisle with that dramatic music. For reference:
Alas, I didn't go all Maria VonTrapp with my wedding veil. Mine was a normal, waist-length kind of thing. The really long ones were like hundreds of dollars, and that seemed like a waste, given that you only use it once.
(Although I've actually used my wedding veil a few times.)
Anyway, as you may have gathered from the title, this post is about the song "My Favorite Things."
When the dog bites, When the bee stings, When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, And then I don't feel so bad.
I don't actually own a dog, so dog bites aren't such a threat for me. And it's winter, so all the bees are frozen, not that I'd be outdoors long enough to get stung anyway. But I do feel sad sometimes. So I thought, in light of that, I would write a post about my favorite things, and then I won't feel so bad.
I do like roses, but not so much raindrops on them. I don't grow roses, because I would kill them, which means my roses are usually indoors in vases, and therefore not covered in raindrops. Here's a picture of some roses I took at the Chicago Flower and Garden Show in March:
I just love the lavender ones. I like the color lavender. And the smell of lavender plants.Of course, I like cats a lot. The song says "whiskers on kittens," but I think Leia's whiskers are much more spectacular than any tiny kitten's. See, she's really fat, so she has long whiskers to help her feel her way through all those narrow alleys she's always scampering around in. Wouldn't it suck if people had whiskers that got longer as they got fatter? That would be totally degrading.
Leia does not photograph well. And the essence of her lovability is in the way she interacts with people. So I made this little movie of her:
Also she smells like my new Brown Sugar & Fig lotion because I was petting her after I put it on my hands. I love it when my kitties smell like my lotions. Growing up I had this cat named Cookie. She always smelled like my lotions, until I went away to college and my brother reported that Cookie had started to stink. My mom emailed and said, "I think it's because we are used to her smelling like your lotions, and now she just smells like a cat."
Another one of my favorite things is water. I think maybe swimming is the only thing that I can do to possibly even come close to controlling my moods. (Well, I mean that and taking pharmaceutical products.) I like how water sounds. And looks. And feels. I like how when I swim, I feel like I'm dominating that water.
I also like how today at the pool some lady was asking me for tips on swimming. And she said I was a good swimmer. She told me she was a marathon runner and now she was just starting to swim for exercise. She said swimming was waaayy harder than running, and even though I know it's the total opposite for me, I did get a little ego boost from feeling like I was actually good at something.
I like how swimming is so quiet. Aside from the bubbles and gurgles, there isn't any other noise. That is why I also like reading. I admit that my love of reading has increased tremendously since becoming a mother. Some days there is so much noise, and there is nothing better than having an hour to lie in my bed and read quietly at the end of the day. Oh wait, reading on the beach is better, but reading in bed is an activity that can be done year-round.
When I'm swimming I like how I feel happy with what my body can do. I usually hate my body, but when I swim I am like, check it out, I am totally keeping myself afloat and propelling myself through the water. It's the same way I feel about my mind when I write. Sometimes I am like, shut up, you stupid mind, stop all your crazy painful thoughts. But I know that when I write, my mind can do something good for once.
On that note, I should maybe get to writing that script. But just know, unlike yesterday, today I am a fighter. I was swimming today and I thought, I would swim to Mars if that's what it takes to get me better. Or, you know, I would swim the equivalent of the distance to Mars. In actuality I swam 2,200 yards, which is 1.25 miles, which isn't even as long as the distance between the pool and my house. But you know, I'm fighting.
And then I don't feel so bad.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Tomorrow is Another Day
Sometimes, honestly, Scarlett O'Hara's final words in Gone With the Wind are all that keeps me going through the day.
After all, tomorrow is another day.
Today? Mmm ... not so good. It was one of those days where I felt like the only part of the world I could handle was the part under the covers on my bed. Of course I couldn't really stay there, I had to be out in the real world where I swear to God clutter actually grows on any available horizontal surface of my home, and why the hell can't my kid stop screaming in my ear?
These are not real problems, I know. Many people in the world have real problems. But today was one of those days where my screwed up brain chemistry was telling me that I had it worse than everybody else on the entire planet.
Don't tell me to snap out of it. For the love of all that's holy, if you tell me to snap out of it I will reach through this computer screen and strangle you, you stupid person who needs to read an introductory psychology textbook. (I know, harsh insult.)
The other day I wrote about fighting the good fight. Some days I don't want to fight. I don't mean I'm giving up the fight forever. I just mean I don't want to fight today. Because sometimes I just get so angry at how hard I have to fight to feel normal. I'm not asking for happy. I'm asking for normal.
I can bet that you, and every single person reading this, have had an occasion where you wished the world would just stop and let you off for a day or two. Maybe you were depressed or anxious, or sick, or exhausted or stressed or grieving.
And the world just keeps on going, expecting you to keep on going with it and its stupid expectations like jobs and laundry.
And today, none of my little inspirational sayings was working.
Keep on fighting the good fight. How much longer until this fight is won?
The only way out is through it. Through it again?
And then, I found inspiration in the stupidest of all places. The Little Engine That Could.
The Little Engine says, "I think I can. I think I can." And even though I've read that book a gazillion times, both during my own childhood and Nathan's, only today did I really, truly appreciate those words. I think I can is good. Not only is it a positive message of self-affirmation, it also doesn't really fully require you to commit to doing anything, just to thinking you can do it. I mean hey, maybe you're wrong and you can't, but you think you can. And really, isn't that about as much certainty as you can be guaranteed anyway?
After Engine, Nathan went to sleep, and, I admit it, I went on a candy run. I went to Walgreen's and bought a big Hershey bar and an industrial-size box of Mike 'n Ikes. And while I was on that trip, I was suddenly overcome with a comforting thought: Tomorrow is another day. And I was actually excited and hopeful for tomorrow.
Behold, the power of chocolate. Or, I mean, positive thinking.
Monday, January 3, 2011
I'm supposed to be doing something else right now
I came to the library because I'm supposed to be doing some writing for the show I'm in. Aren't I always saying how much I would love to be a comedy writer, like Tina Fey and all that? And then I actually have some comedy writing to do, and I go to the library and head straight for the magazine rack.
And why? Because they finally have back issues of Real Simple displayed, which is a magazine I hate, but they had these really cute shoes on the cover of the October issue that I saw at the grocery store, and three months later I still couldn't get them out of my head. So I'm all, "Let me just find out where they got those shoes, and then I'll get to work." And then I get sucked into Real Simple's useless tips such as how you could melt down a leftover birthday candle to coat a piece of thread with wax before threading a needle.
Here's the thing, Real Simple. Every piece of advice you give, in your entire magazine, every volume, every issue, is dumb. No, I do not have a leftover phone cord that I could use as a clothesline. And how could anybody have a winning answer in the readers' poll by suggesting that you use an oven mitt to store your camera while traveling? You know what I use to store my camera? An effing camera bag, you dumbass.
And also, what does the title Real Simple mean? The correct grammar is Really Simple.
And after skimming the whole dumb magazine, I didn't even find out where the shoes were from. I found this picture of the whole cover, which features the shoe in the upper left-hand corner:
But after some Googling, I realized that style of shoes is called a "shootie." You know, shoe + bootie? I find that name off-putting. No shooties for me, thank you.
Also I'm pretty sure I would break my ankle wearing those. And blogging + morphine (blorphine?) probably doesn't go over well.
I know it sounds like I'm in a bad mood, but I actually had a better day today. I'm still feeling a little anxious and off, for both positive reasons (my show coming up) and negative reasons (I think somebody is mad at me). But at least I worked out at the gym today (spin), and I'm not so nervous that I look like I have Parkinson's.
Here is something I learned when I got home from the gym. My kid's tendency to wake up in the morning and demand that the day be started immediately? He only does that with me. See, when I left for spin, father and son were curled up together slumbering away. When I got home, Nathan came downstairs and said, "I got up because you were here." It turns out that when he first woke up, he realized I wasn't there and Bill was still asleep, so he quietly lay in bed reading books.
Uh huh.
So he's some kind of perfect model child when I'm not there. Add that to the fact that he doesn't carry on about having to go to bed by himself except when he's with me, and I start to wonder why I even hang around at all.
Which is why I'm at the library. Still not writing my jokes.
I'm supposed to be writing jokes about Tony Award-winning musicals. It turns out, musicals aren't that funny. Or else the jokes I think of, I worry might offend people. Like for example, the very first Tony winner, 1949's Kiss Me Kate, was written by Cole Porter, who also wrote the musicals Fifty Million Frenchmen, Anything Goes, and Gay Divorce. I think they were a trilogy.
See, that could offend people.
And that was the first joke I thought of right off the bat, and I worried that it was not appropriate, so then I got stuck. It didn't help that I was trying to do my writing in the playground at the Lincoln Mall. So I packed it up, bought some pretzel nuggets at Auntie Anne's, and pulled out a wad of quarters so my kid could ride on those little cars you put quarters in.
Then I went to Old Navy and bought a tie-up cardigan. And then to Bath and Body Works, in search of some heavily-discounted Twisted Peppermint lotion leftover from the holiday season. And the employee said they sold out of it by Thanksgiving. And I was like, "No problem, I'll just use the trusty Internet to shop for this product. Stores are for suckers." And then later I went on the Internet and discovered that apparently there is no more Twisted Peppermint lotion anywhere in the entire goddamn Bath and Body Works warehouse.
So this winter I will be smelling like either Exotic Coconut or Brown Sugar and Fig. Total expenditure: $6.
When I got home from shopping, I made some popovers. I got the recipe a few years back from a cookbook I checked out at the library, which was called Grandma's Wartime Baking Book: World War II and the Way We Baked. It's full of easy WWII-era recipes with few ingredients, because, you know, stuff was rationed. The popover recipe has 4 ingredients: flour, salt, milk, and eggs. Butter is optional. And you don't use too much of anything.
However, I don't know how Grandma could have made that recipe in time for dinner after getting home from her shift at her wartime riveting job, because it took like an hour for the popovers to bake. Good thing I had plenty of time to make them after my long day of writing comedy and shopping for discounted lotions. My generation sure isn't the Greatest Generation. We may be the best-smelling one, though.
The popovers were supposed to go with some split pea soup I made. But my husband refused to eat the soup because he said it was "dominated by celery." Now we have a lot of soup left over, so if anybody would like some partially-congealed, cold split pea soup, come on over.
No takers? Fine, more for me.
Anyway, it's later now, and I got kicked out of the library at closing time. Like, seriously, a lady came by and rudely said, "Ma'am, this area is now closed," even though it was like 10 minutes before closing time. Now first of all, Ma'am? Crapbuckets. Second, stop being so rude. I'm not some dumb transient who just hangs out at the library for the free coffee and magazines. The free coffee is gross, and I paid a whole $1.50 for my Diet Pepsi from the vending machine.
And I think I may have muttered something under my breath, which may have looked like I was talking to myself and the voices I hear in my head, so now the librarian probably thought I was a deranged transient who hangs out at the library for the free coffee and magazines. And it's like, look, lady, I'll have you know that I totally have it together, because I take my Prozac every single day without even having to be told to. And besides I put together a really lovely dinner for my family using only small quantities of rationed goods.
Also, remember what I said earlier about being totally unnecessary at my home? Well, so I get home at 9:00, and my kid is wandering around the house wearing swim trunks and a Batman shirt, wailing that I have to put him to bed. Now, of course he was amping up the drama just for me, and he probably would have gone to sleep on his own just fine if I had given him 10 more minutes. So I guess I'm not so much useless as I am actually harmful. Seems like a good time to take that solo trip to Maui.
So, to sum up:
Real Simple: Not helpful
Me: Not productive
Musicals: Not Funny
Shooties: Not a good name
Oven mitts, morphine, Gay Divorce, Brown Sugar and Fig.
The end.
And why? Because they finally have back issues of Real Simple displayed, which is a magazine I hate, but they had these really cute shoes on the cover of the October issue that I saw at the grocery store, and three months later I still couldn't get them out of my head. So I'm all, "Let me just find out where they got those shoes, and then I'll get to work." And then I get sucked into Real Simple's useless tips such as how you could melt down a leftover birthday candle to coat a piece of thread with wax before threading a needle.
Here's the thing, Real Simple. Every piece of advice you give, in your entire magazine, every volume, every issue, is dumb. No, I do not have a leftover phone cord that I could use as a clothesline. And how could anybody have a winning answer in the readers' poll by suggesting that you use an oven mitt to store your camera while traveling? You know what I use to store my camera? An effing camera bag, you dumbass.
And also, what does the title Real Simple mean? The correct grammar is Really Simple.
And after skimming the whole dumb magazine, I didn't even find out where the shoes were from. I found this picture of the whole cover, which features the shoe in the upper left-hand corner:
But after some Googling, I realized that style of shoes is called a "shootie." You know, shoe + bootie? I find that name off-putting. No shooties for me, thank you.
Also I'm pretty sure I would break my ankle wearing those. And blogging + morphine (blorphine?) probably doesn't go over well.
I know it sounds like I'm in a bad mood, but I actually had a better day today. I'm still feeling a little anxious and off, for both positive reasons (my show coming up) and negative reasons (I think somebody is mad at me). But at least I worked out at the gym today (spin), and I'm not so nervous that I look like I have Parkinson's.
Here is something I learned when I got home from the gym. My kid's tendency to wake up in the morning and demand that the day be started immediately? He only does that with me. See, when I left for spin, father and son were curled up together slumbering away. When I got home, Nathan came downstairs and said, "I got up because you were here." It turns out that when he first woke up, he realized I wasn't there and Bill was still asleep, so he quietly lay in bed reading books.
Uh huh.
So he's some kind of perfect model child when I'm not there. Add that to the fact that he doesn't carry on about having to go to bed by himself except when he's with me, and I start to wonder why I even hang around at all.
Which is why I'm at the library. Still not writing my jokes.
I'm supposed to be writing jokes about Tony Award-winning musicals. It turns out, musicals aren't that funny. Or else the jokes I think of, I worry might offend people. Like for example, the very first Tony winner, 1949's Kiss Me Kate, was written by Cole Porter, who also wrote the musicals Fifty Million Frenchmen, Anything Goes, and Gay Divorce. I think they were a trilogy.
See, that could offend people.
And that was the first joke I thought of right off the bat, and I worried that it was not appropriate, so then I got stuck. It didn't help that I was trying to do my writing in the playground at the Lincoln Mall. So I packed it up, bought some pretzel nuggets at Auntie Anne's, and pulled out a wad of quarters so my kid could ride on those little cars you put quarters in.
Then I went to Old Navy and bought a tie-up cardigan. And then to Bath and Body Works, in search of some heavily-discounted Twisted Peppermint lotion leftover from the holiday season. And the employee said they sold out of it by Thanksgiving. And I was like, "No problem, I'll just use the trusty Internet to shop for this product. Stores are for suckers." And then later I went on the Internet and discovered that apparently there is no more Twisted Peppermint lotion anywhere in the entire goddamn Bath and Body Works warehouse.
So this winter I will be smelling like either Exotic Coconut or Brown Sugar and Fig. Total expenditure: $6.
When I got home from shopping, I made some popovers. I got the recipe a few years back from a cookbook I checked out at the library, which was called Grandma's Wartime Baking Book: World War II and the Way We Baked. It's full of easy WWII-era recipes with few ingredients, because, you know, stuff was rationed. The popover recipe has 4 ingredients: flour, salt, milk, and eggs. Butter is optional. And you don't use too much of anything.
However, I don't know how Grandma could have made that recipe in time for dinner after getting home from her shift at her wartime riveting job, because it took like an hour for the popovers to bake. Good thing I had plenty of time to make them after my long day of writing comedy and shopping for discounted lotions. My generation sure isn't the Greatest Generation. We may be the best-smelling one, though.
The popovers were supposed to go with some split pea soup I made. But my husband refused to eat the soup because he said it was "dominated by celery." Now we have a lot of soup left over, so if anybody would like some partially-congealed, cold split pea soup, come on over.
No takers? Fine, more for me.
Anyway, it's later now, and I got kicked out of the library at closing time. Like, seriously, a lady came by and rudely said, "Ma'am, this area is now closed," even though it was like 10 minutes before closing time. Now first of all, Ma'am? Crapbuckets. Second, stop being so rude. I'm not some dumb transient who just hangs out at the library for the free coffee and magazines. The free coffee is gross, and I paid a whole $1.50 for my Diet Pepsi from the vending machine.
And I think I may have muttered something under my breath, which may have looked like I was talking to myself and the voices I hear in my head, so now the librarian probably thought I was a deranged transient who hangs out at the library for the free coffee and magazines. And it's like, look, lady, I'll have you know that I totally have it together, because I take my Prozac every single day without even having to be told to. And besides I put together a really lovely dinner for my family using only small quantities of rationed goods.
Also, remember what I said earlier about being totally unnecessary at my home? Well, so I get home at 9:00, and my kid is wandering around the house wearing swim trunks and a Batman shirt, wailing that I have to put him to bed. Now, of course he was amping up the drama just for me, and he probably would have gone to sleep on his own just fine if I had given him 10 more minutes. So I guess I'm not so much useless as I am actually harmful. Seems like a good time to take that solo trip to Maui.
So, to sum up:
Real Simple: Not helpful
Me: Not productive
Musicals: Not Funny
Shooties: Not a good name
Oven mitts, morphine, Gay Divorce, Brown Sugar and Fig.
The end.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Reflections on Today
I have never been good at keeping a journal. From my very first Hello Kitty diary with the cheap padlock to the simple notebooks I buy at Target, every journal effort I have ever made has gone awry. The first problem is that my hand gets tired trying to write down my crazy jumble of thoughts. The second problem is that I go back later and read what I write and it's just pure drivel. And maybe I'll feel that way when I go back and reread my blog posts someday, but I'd like to think that anything I put on the Internet is of slightly better quality.
This post may prove that theory wrong. This is going to be my journal.
Lately I've been feeling really, really anxious. Like, shaky and almost nonfunctional anxious. And while I welcome anxiety as a fun alternative to its evil twin depression, really, truly, why can't I just be normal?
I'm gonna go to the gym this week and get back on my routine and kick anxiety and depression's collective asses.
All you can do is put one foot in front of the other and keep fighting the good fight.
I think of these lyrics from Kate Voegele's "Lift Me Up":
And I've been given hope
That there's a light on up the hall
And that a day will come
When the fight is won
And I think that day has just begun
And since I'm already on a tangent as the Dork Who Finds Solace in Song Lyrics, I'm embedding this video of the song "Always on Your Side," which is a duet sung by Sting and Sheryl Crow.
Go ahead, turn it on. It can be the soundtrack while you read this post. Anyway, that song was a song I discovered in 2005. I don't remember what dumb stuff I was grappling with back then, but I always took comfort in the lyrics that said:
But is there someplace far away, someplace where all is clear
Easy to start over with the ones you hold so dear
Or are you left to wonder, all alone, eternally
This isn't how it's really meant to be
No it isn't how it's really meant to be
I had sort of forgotten about that song, because the iPod that contained it broke or got lost or something, and it somehow didn't make it over to my future iPod(s). But I had shared the song with Katie, who was my cubicle neighbor at the time, and she apparently did a better job of backing up her music because she still has it on her current computer. And I heard it recently and re-downloaded it (yes, that's another $0.99 for the same song, you dumbass iTunes), and somehow those lyrics still speak to me and my current issues.
Issues. Whatever. I have no real problems, except being screwed up in the head. I went to visit Katie today, who is dealing with a real-life Legitimate Reason to be sad.
And all I can say to her is, sometimes life is an unfair shitstorm of suckitude.
This isn't how it's really meant to be.
I don't always think I'm a very good friend to my friends. I'm not a very good listener, and I never know the right things to say. Sometimes I feel like everybody else in the world was blessed with the ability to say all the exact right things when their friends are struggling, and all I can do is go and show up with a stupid Tupperware container of food and hope my shepherd's pie and cinnamon bread can say what I can't.
I think I'm getting to be a better friend, though. I think going through my own daily struggles has made me more sympathetic to other peoples' struggles. I think becoming more open about my own feelings (e.g. in this blog) has helped other people come forward and share their own feelings, and we've all become a lot closer.
I think good friendships are so powerful. And so even though life is an unfair shitstorm of suckitude sometimes, it helps to have a few friends and family members who actually get you. I think maybe a lot of people don't get me. I think maybe a lot of people think I should buck up sometimes.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I will share an interesting tidbit. I started off this post with the line, "From my very first Hello Kitty diary with the cheap padlock to the simple notebooks I buy at Target, every journal effort I have ever made has gone awry." What I did not mention was that at least one of the notebooks I have gotten at Target recently has Hello Kitty on it. And sometimes I write in it with one of my many Hello Kitty pens. So, as you can see, I've totally grown up.
And on that note, I will continue to put one foot in front of the other and keeping fighting the good fight. And so should you.
This post may prove that theory wrong. This is going to be my journal.
Lately I've been feeling really, really anxious. Like, shaky and almost nonfunctional anxious. And while I welcome anxiety as a fun alternative to its evil twin depression, really, truly, why can't I just be normal?
I'm gonna go to the gym this week and get back on my routine and kick anxiety and depression's collective asses.
All you can do is put one foot in front of the other and keep fighting the good fight.
I think of these lyrics from Kate Voegele's "Lift Me Up":
And I've been given hope
That there's a light on up the hall
And that a day will come
When the fight is won
And I think that day has just begun
And since I'm already on a tangent as the Dork Who Finds Solace in Song Lyrics, I'm embedding this video of the song "Always on Your Side," which is a duet sung by Sting and Sheryl Crow.
Go ahead, turn it on. It can be the soundtrack while you read this post. Anyway, that song was a song I discovered in 2005. I don't remember what dumb stuff I was grappling with back then, but I always took comfort in the lyrics that said:
But is there someplace far away, someplace where all is clear
Easy to start over with the ones you hold so dear
Or are you left to wonder, all alone, eternally
This isn't how it's really meant to be
No it isn't how it's really meant to be
I had sort of forgotten about that song, because the iPod that contained it broke or got lost or something, and it somehow didn't make it over to my future iPod(s). But I had shared the song with Katie, who was my cubicle neighbor at the time, and she apparently did a better job of backing up her music because she still has it on her current computer. And I heard it recently and re-downloaded it (yes, that's another $0.99 for the same song, you dumbass iTunes), and somehow those lyrics still speak to me and my current issues.
Issues. Whatever. I have no real problems, except being screwed up in the head. I went to visit Katie today, who is dealing with a real-life Legitimate Reason to be sad.
And all I can say to her is, sometimes life is an unfair shitstorm of suckitude.
This isn't how it's really meant to be.
I don't always think I'm a very good friend to my friends. I'm not a very good listener, and I never know the right things to say. Sometimes I feel like everybody else in the world was blessed with the ability to say all the exact right things when their friends are struggling, and all I can do is go and show up with a stupid Tupperware container of food and hope my shepherd's pie and cinnamon bread can say what I can't.
I think I'm getting to be a better friend, though. I think going through my own daily struggles has made me more sympathetic to other peoples' struggles. I think becoming more open about my own feelings (e.g. in this blog) has helped other people come forward and share their own feelings, and we've all become a lot closer.
I think good friendships are so powerful. And so even though life is an unfair shitstorm of suckitude sometimes, it helps to have a few friends and family members who actually get you. I think maybe a lot of people don't get me. I think maybe a lot of people think I should buck up sometimes.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I will share an interesting tidbit. I started off this post with the line, "From my very first Hello Kitty diary with the cheap padlock to the simple notebooks I buy at Target, every journal effort I have ever made has gone awry." What I did not mention was that at least one of the notebooks I have gotten at Target recently has Hello Kitty on it. And sometimes I write in it with one of my many Hello Kitty pens. So, as you can see, I've totally grown up.
And on that note, I will continue to put one foot in front of the other and keeping fighting the good fight. And so should you.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Coming up Roses
Happy New Year! I just love New Year's. As I said yesterday, back in 2010, it's silly to get so excited about a new year when it's just another day, but I love the promise of newness that each year brings. The official character of New Year's is a baby, and like a brand-new baby, a new year is a clean, unblemished slate, one that hasn't yet grown into an obnoxious three-year-old who screams in your ear when you're trying to write a blog post.
But when I think of New Year's, I don't think of babies, I think of roses. See, I grew up in Pasadena, California, home of the Tournament of Roses Parade and the Rose Bowl game on New Year's Day. And on New Year's in Pasadena, it's roses, roses everywhere.
When I was a senior in high school, I participated in the rite of passage of trying out to be the Rose Queen. I have a copy of my official tryout picture, but it's part of a beautifully-scrapbooked page my mom made that I don't want to wreck, so instead I just took this crummy picture of the whole page:
That's my official photo on the right. Sadly, I didn't make it beyond the first round of try-outs, but everyone who tries out gets to go to the Royal Ball. The photo in the upper-left is my neighbor Debbie helping me get ready for the ball. See, Debbie has two sons, and she always felt jealous of my mom getting to help a daughter get ready for a dance. Now, let me say that dance-prep was not my teenage self's strong suit (I look fat in this! My hair is ugly!), and so my mom was more than willing to throw her annoying daughter at any willing participant. That's how Debbie got the job of doing my hair, and I'm sure after that she never wished she had a daughter again. (See how useful I was?)
The photo in the lower left is my with the guy I asked to be my escort for the ball, who also happened to be my crush from approximately 6th grade to 12th grade (with periodic breaks in between). As a fun aside, I received a birth announcement just yesterday from him and his wife, who just had a daughter in November. She's super cute.
Anyway, the two best things about the Royal Ball were that: (1) They gave out free Baskin-Robbins ice cream sandwiches, and (2) We all got a Nordstrom-brand rose-scented body wash as a favor to take home. I loved that body wash. I am still on a quest to find a body wash like that one.
Well, I'm off on a tangent. The point is, I'm from the City of Roses, and so New Year's makes me think of roses. Now that I live in Illinois, January is such a bleak month, and it's nice to bring a little color into your life with roses. Hence my current blog decor. And I bought some roses yesterday at the grocery store:
I like the little baby roses, too. I bought these for somebody else, but I'm not saying who because it will ruin the surprise.
So, it's New Year's, and everything is fresh and new and promising, coming up roses if you will. And in the spirit of new beginnings, I, like most people, have made some New Year's resolutions. I decided not to make one about weight loss this year, even though that is a constant goal of mine. It just seems too pathetic to make that same resolution every year. With this year's resolutions, I decided to think a little bit outside the box.
My first resolution is to build myself a little office in my basement. Bill got me this book about stand-up comedy, one where various comics give advice, and Jerry Seinfeld's advice was to force yourself to sit down and write for one hour a day. I realized that I don't even have a dedicated space to sit down and work. If I'm going to be serious about my craft, even just as a creative outlet, I need a desk. Unfortunately, this is the only space available to clear out for an office:
Not only is that a giant disaster, but clearing it out involves decisions. See that bassinet there? Getting rid of that involves a serious emotional choice, the choice to never create another person to sleep in a bassinet again. But, you know, not really, because if I got rid of it and then for some reason had a need for it in the future, the need to acquire a bassinet would be the least of my worries.
Anyway, so after I get the area cleaned I can go to Ikea and get a desk, and then decorate my area with little kitty pictures and flowers and stuff that I can't put up in my otherwise masculine household. Plus my New Year's resolution every year is to get that basement cleaned, and maybe the promise of my own office will motivate me to actually do it this year.
My second resolution is to be less angry and resentful. I could write a 75-page diatribe on resentment, but suffice it to say that I have a lot of irrational resentment, and I'd like to work on getting rid of it.
My third resolution is to swim three times a week. In general, I think I do a good job of getting to the gym. I go 5-6 times a week, and I'm doing the whole trainer thing so I can get in my recommended 2x a week of strength training, but the casualty has been swimming. I don't think swimming is the best workout for me because my body has become efficient at it, but it's the best workout for my mental health. Now, the thing is, if I'm trying to do twice a week with the trainer, and twice a week on the treadmill, and once a week with spin, and oh yeah I'm also signing up for yoga, I can't add in 3x a week of swimming unless I double up on workouts some days. Doubling up has not really worked for me in the past. It's too hard to drag Nathan to the gym daycare twice a day, so if I want to double up I have to the workouts back-to-back. I'm not quite in shape enough to work out for two hours straight. I think my only hope for doubling up will be to swim on the days when I work out with the trainer, so I can do cardio and strength training on the same days. We'll see. (Because you're always really likely to achieve a goal when you take the attitude of we'll see.)
Okay, well, those are my resolutions. Happy 2011, everyone!
But when I think of New Year's, I don't think of babies, I think of roses. See, I grew up in Pasadena, California, home of the Tournament of Roses Parade and the Rose Bowl game on New Year's Day. And on New Year's in Pasadena, it's roses, roses everywhere.
When I was a senior in high school, I participated in the rite of passage of trying out to be the Rose Queen. I have a copy of my official tryout picture, but it's part of a beautifully-scrapbooked page my mom made that I don't want to wreck, so instead I just took this crummy picture of the whole page:
That's my official photo on the right. Sadly, I didn't make it beyond the first round of try-outs, but everyone who tries out gets to go to the Royal Ball. The photo in the upper-left is my neighbor Debbie helping me get ready for the ball. See, Debbie has two sons, and she always felt jealous of my mom getting to help a daughter get ready for a dance. Now, let me say that dance-prep was not my teenage self's strong suit (I look fat in this! My hair is ugly!), and so my mom was more than willing to throw her annoying daughter at any willing participant. That's how Debbie got the job of doing my hair, and I'm sure after that she never wished she had a daughter again. (See how useful I was?)The photo in the lower left is my with the guy I asked to be my escort for the ball, who also happened to be my crush from approximately 6th grade to 12th grade (with periodic breaks in between). As a fun aside, I received a birth announcement just yesterday from him and his wife, who just had a daughter in November. She's super cute.
Anyway, the two best things about the Royal Ball were that: (1) They gave out free Baskin-Robbins ice cream sandwiches, and (2) We all got a Nordstrom-brand rose-scented body wash as a favor to take home. I loved that body wash. I am still on a quest to find a body wash like that one.
Well, I'm off on a tangent. The point is, I'm from the City of Roses, and so New Year's makes me think of roses. Now that I live in Illinois, January is such a bleak month, and it's nice to bring a little color into your life with roses. Hence my current blog decor. And I bought some roses yesterday at the grocery store:
I like the little baby roses, too. I bought these for somebody else, but I'm not saying who because it will ruin the surprise.
So, it's New Year's, and everything is fresh and new and promising, coming up roses if you will. And in the spirit of new beginnings, I, like most people, have made some New Year's resolutions. I decided not to make one about weight loss this year, even though that is a constant goal of mine. It just seems too pathetic to make that same resolution every year. With this year's resolutions, I decided to think a little bit outside the box.
My first resolution is to build myself a little office in my basement. Bill got me this book about stand-up comedy, one where various comics give advice, and Jerry Seinfeld's advice was to force yourself to sit down and write for one hour a day. I realized that I don't even have a dedicated space to sit down and work. If I'm going to be serious about my craft, even just as a creative outlet, I need a desk. Unfortunately, this is the only space available to clear out for an office:
Not only is that a giant disaster, but clearing it out involves decisions. See that bassinet there? Getting rid of that involves a serious emotional choice, the choice to never create another person to sleep in a bassinet again. But, you know, not really, because if I got rid of it and then for some reason had a need for it in the future, the need to acquire a bassinet would be the least of my worries. Anyway, so after I get the area cleaned I can go to Ikea and get a desk, and then decorate my area with little kitty pictures and flowers and stuff that I can't put up in my otherwise masculine household. Plus my New Year's resolution every year is to get that basement cleaned, and maybe the promise of my own office will motivate me to actually do it this year.
My second resolution is to be less angry and resentful. I could write a 75-page diatribe on resentment, but suffice it to say that I have a lot of irrational resentment, and I'd like to work on getting rid of it.
My third resolution is to swim three times a week. In general, I think I do a good job of getting to the gym. I go 5-6 times a week, and I'm doing the whole trainer thing so I can get in my recommended 2x a week of strength training, but the casualty has been swimming. I don't think swimming is the best workout for me because my body has become efficient at it, but it's the best workout for my mental health. Now, the thing is, if I'm trying to do twice a week with the trainer, and twice a week on the treadmill, and once a week with spin, and oh yeah I'm also signing up for yoga, I can't add in 3x a week of swimming unless I double up on workouts some days. Doubling up has not really worked for me in the past. It's too hard to drag Nathan to the gym daycare twice a day, so if I want to double up I have to the workouts back-to-back. I'm not quite in shape enough to work out for two hours straight. I think my only hope for doubling up will be to swim on the days when I work out with the trainer, so I can do cardio and strength training on the same days. We'll see. (Because you're always really likely to achieve a goal when you take the attitude of we'll see.)
Okay, well, those are my resolutions. Happy 2011, everyone!
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